


Candles

by chainsaw_poet



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, Memories, Post-Barricade, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainsaw_poet/pseuds/chainsaw_poet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius faces the ghosts of Christmas past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flourwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourwings/gifts).



> This fic is a gift for flourwings - I hope you have a wonderful holiday season. Apologies for possibly historical inaccuarcy with Christmas traditions.

Marius could not remember his grandfather ever going much in for Christmas decorating. Nevertheless, that morning, he had arrived with a large fir tree, and boxes of apples, ribbons and candles, dismissing utterly any suggestion that this might be at all unexpected.

“We cannot leave the house bare for Christmas,” he announced. “Not that it could be bare with Mademoiselle Fauchelevent’s charming presence enlivening it every day, but you understand my meaning, Marius. I thought the two of you might decorate it together this afternoon. I can see that your fiancée has a good eye for such things.”

Marius and Cosette had indeed spent the afternoon hanging apples, tying ribbons and placing candles amongst the branches. Cosette thought it all marvellous fun – they had never had a tree at home. Wasn’t it beautiful? Didn’t it smell lovely? They must do this every year when they were married. And it had been marvellous fun, and Marius had not felt tired at all, and had barely even noticed his collarbone, until the moment came to light the candles.

Marius’s hand trembled as he struck the match, as it had trembled intermittently since that night in June. One final, stubborn symptom from his broken collarbone, the doctors said. Over the months, it became less frequent but had not managed to leave him entirely – although the doctors remained hopeful that it would. Only one had dared to mention nerves, and he had been promptly escorted from the room by his grandfather and not seen since.

“It seems any fool can get a medical licence these days,” Grandfather had muttered. He chose not to notice that Marius started at the sound of a dropped tray in the kitchen, and flinched whenever a draught slammed a door shut.

The trembling meant that Marius dashed the match against the box three times before it lit. At that point, his fingers stopped being any use at all and he dropped the flaring match onto the rug below. Marius felt himself make a noise in the back of his throat, and step backwards away from it – until a small foot and a slender ankle, visible under raised skirts, stepped over his own leg and onto the burning match, extinguishing the fire altogether.

“The rug,” Marius mumbled, as he felt Cosette’s small hands rest on his waist, holding him still.

“The rug doesn’t matter,” she said softly, firmly. She pressed a kiss just below his ear. “There’s barely a mark.”

With a gentle pressure of her hands, Cosette spun him around to face her. Her eyes looked steadily into his. She was so very beautiful that, for a moment, he could think of nothing else.

“If anything,” Cosette continued. “Your grandfather will think that you have taken up smoking cigars, which will probably please him no end.”

She smiled, and Marius smiled back.

“Would you like me to light the candles?” she asked, her hand reaching over the one in which he held the matchbox. “I think you ought to sit down. I’ve quite tired you with all the decorating. You really should have said something.”

Somehow, Cosette had steered him back into his reclining chair; the hateful thing had not yet been put away. She kissed him on the forehead, smiled and turned back to the tree, calling behind her, “Rest! I have hours still. I shan’t go without waking you to say goodnight.”

Marius felt himself tense and she struck the match. But Cosette, of course, held it steady until the wick of the candle caught, and then she raised the match to her lips and blew it out. Her dark hair shone as the flickering light of the candle glimmered across the curls that framed her eyes. Marius fixed his eyes on them, trying hard not to look at the flame itself. To his mind, it seemed to grow larger the longer that he looked at it, no matter how much he told himself that such a thing was impossible, that no wax candle could cause such a blaze.

Perhaps he was tired. He was tired and the low light was playing tricks with his eyes. That was it. That was all it could be.

* * *

 

“Marius! Marius Pontmercy!”

It was not his name. He was hearing things. No one called his name for he knew no one.

“I say, Marius – turn around!”

Steeling himself to be disappointed, Marius risked a glimpse over his shoulder.

Standing on the opposite side of the road was Courfeyrac. He had what looked like a whole hedgerow in his arms, and a bundle of candles swinging from his left wrist. Even with half his face covered with shrubbery, Courfeyrac still managed to exude the air of being exceptionally pleased to see Marius, dashing almost into the path of an oncoming carriage in his eagerness to cross the road.

“I knew it was you – I would recognise that coat anywhere!” Courfeyrac gathered Marius into his arms, foliage and all. “How are you? Where have you been? I’ve not see you in weeks – months!”

Courfeyrac took Marius’s hand, causing Marius to cringe as he thought of the threadbare state of his gloves. But if Courfeyrac noticed, then he said nothing.

“You’re quite frozen!” Courfeyrac declared. “Come back to my rooms, they’re close by and I’m heading right there. I’ve some wine that will warm us up.”

Marius eyed the greenery suspiciously.

“You’re not… in the middle of something?”

Looking down at his burden, Courfeyrac seemed suddenly to remember that he was carrying it, and burst out into peals of laughter.

“Oh, this!” he said. “Yes, I must look a sight. They are for Christmas decorations. Combeferre says that I shall set my rooms on fire, and Joly had to agree with him – although he did look rather jealous of my spoils. I shall prove them both wrong in any case. And you must come and help me do so.”

“I… I’m sure I would be in the way,” Marius replied, hesitantly. “And I know nothing about decorating. And I’ve a translation to finish.”

“Not for tomorrow, it’s a Sunday,” Courfeyrac declared. “Come on, Marius. I would take your arm if I could, but my hands are rather full. So unless you want me to shunt you down the street…”

Marius smiled – Courfeyrac did indeed seem willing to do just that. He blushed and looked down at his feet.

“If you’re sure,” he said, raising his eyes.

“Quite,” Courfeyrac replied.

 

Courfeyrac’s rooms had a fire blazing when they got in, and for a minute a sick swoop of jealously rolled through his stomach. Courfeyrac could burn wood when he was out; Marius could not even afford a room with a grate. Perhaps Courfeyrac noticed Marius looking hungrily at the flames, because he immediately nodded towards the fire.

“Go, warm yourself – it’s bitter outside.”

“Let me help you with that first,” Marius replied, reaching for a bundle of greenery.

“Quite all right,” Courfeyrac said.

“Really, you carried it all the way home.”

“No, I insist – you warm up first.”

“It won’t take a moment.” Marius grasped at a branch. “If I just take this.”

“No, Marius I can…”

But it was too late. The greenery in Courfeyrac’s arms fell apart, and two rifles fell with a clatter on to the floor below. Marius jumped backwards with a squeak, sending his branches flying around him.

“… manage,” Courfeyrac finished weakly. “Ah well, I suppose we can trust you.” Catching Marius’s sudden pallor, he added, “Don’t worry – they’re not loaded. It was Combeferre’s idea to hide them in the Christmas greenery. Rather clever, I thought.”

“But… why did you ask me if you had… those?” Marius stuttered, eyes still fixed on them.

“I was going to send you out for something and tuck them away.” Courfeyrac picked up the pistols and headed for his wardrobe. He dropped the weapons inside and closed the door, spinning back to face Marius with a brilliant smile.

“Besides, I really am going to decorate – it seemed a shame to waste the greenery,” he said. “And I really did want you to help. That’s why I asked you. I’m sorry if the guns scared you.”

“They didn’t…” Marius began, before realising it was hopeless. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“That’s all,” Courfeyrac agreed with a wink. “We shall have to get you a rifle too, Marius Pontmercy. We’re arming all our allies. I wouldn’t want you to be left out.”

Courfeyrac bent down and picked up the closest branch to him, and tucked it behind the corner of a dark wooded picture frame.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s not straight,” Marius replied as he peered at the frame, before stepping in front of Courfeyrac to adjust it.

Courfeyrac was a couple of inches taller than Marius, making the top of the picture frame just out of his reach. He raised onto his tiptoes and wobbled, before feeling two strong hands steadying his waist. Looking over his shoulder, Marius saw Courfeyrac warmly nodding encouragement. He reached up again and tweaked the angle of the branch and the angle of the frame, pulling them left and right until he was finally satisfied.

“Oh yes,” Courfeyrac said, over his shoulder, hands still on Marius’s waist. “Much better.”

It emerged that it required rather a lot of greenery to hide large weapons. Courfeyrac poured the wine, and Marius set about sorting them into different lengths and colours, winding some of them together and tying them with the twine that had bound the candles. It was tricky work, but a pleasant change from his translating. It was good to be using his hands as well as his mind. Courfeyrac helped by holding pieces in place and offering suggestions; he had a good eye for pieces that would match and for where in the room they would look best.

They had draped branches over all the pictures, wound ivy round the bed frame and transformed the mantelpiece into a shrine of greenery, when Marius started to feel a little woozy. Had he drunk that much? His glass seemed almost as full as when Courfeyrac had poured it. But turning back from pinning a few sprigs onto Courfeyrac’s door, Marius caught his friend stealthily emptying the bottle into Marius’s glass.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Oh, no – actually, I’m not. The wine’s put colour in your cheeks. Besides, you’re dong me a favour. I have to run an errand for Enjolras, and they’ll be trouble if I fall asleep and forget.” He handed the glass to Marius. “Sit down – finish this, I’ll see to the candles.”

Marius perched on the bed and sipped at his wine, while Courfeyrac carefully arranged the candles in the greenery over the mantelpiece. He ensure that each one was tucked in enough to stand, but high enough so that the wick protruded well over the tops of the leaves. Then, taking up a box of matches, Courfeyrac carefully lit each one in turn, finishing with the one in the centre. By the time that Courfeyrac blew out the oil lamps, Marius was sunk back into the pillow, his glass almost empty on the floor.

The light from the candles and the fire flicked around the room, glancing off the glass of picture frames and mirrors. The room seemed both larger and more intimate, as furniture receded into shadows and Courfeyrac, copper hair illuminated in the glow, sat down next to Marius.

“I must go now,” he said softly. “But you should say. Enjoy the lights.”

“No, I should go home,” Marius mumbled with a yawn. “Can’t sleep here…”

“Stay,” Courfeyrac insisted, pressing a hand to Marius’s shoulder. “Someone should. I don’t want to prove Combeferre right by really burning it down. Besides, you’re keeping the bed warm like that. I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you…” Marius began.

“Nowhere special,” Courfeyrac said. He leant over and kissed Marius on the forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

* * *

 

Marius woke up with a name on his lips. A name he had not said in months. A name he thought he might never be able to say again.

“Marius?”

Cosette was standing in front of him. Behind her, the tree was lit up like a beautiful phoenix, each branch tipped with a dancing yellow frame. The light crowned Cosette with a halo as she tripped towards him and knelt down beside him, an anxious look in her eyes.

“I-I…” Marius began, looking around him. The room took a few moments to become familiar once more. How silly. He had hardly left this very room for months, and now he did not know where he was. He had been somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Somewhere he could never go again.

“You cried out.” Cosette took his hand and squeezed it between both of her own.

“What did I say?” Marius asked.

Cosette knitted her brows and pursed her lips in confusion.

“Nothing,” she said. “You just – you just made a sound.”

“I’m sorry,” Marius said. “It was….”

But he couldn’t say what it was. Whatever it had been, it was gone now.

“You’ve finished the tree,” he said instead, as his eyes fixed again on the pyramid of light behind her.

Cosette looked back over her shoulder at it and smiled.

“I know – it looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” she whispered.

Marius could only nod in response.  Without breaking Marius’s gaze, Cosette raised his hand to her lisps and kissed it.

“Oh my love, it was only a dream.”

“No.” The word stuck in Marius’s throat, choking him. “No, he wasn’t.”

Tears began to form on Cosette’s lower lids, but she blinked them back. All at once, she gathered Marius into her, holding him tighter than she had done since that moment when they were reunited. The room was silent. Night had fallen. Behind them, the candles flickered.


End file.
